


look what the cat dragged in

by WarriorHeart



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Loneliness, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, aiden has plent of hugs, probably a mess, self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorHeart/pseuds/WarriorHeart
Summary: Lambert isn't entirely ready for the Path when he's sent out of Kaer Morhen. There are friends he's left behind and memories that haunt him.A fairly upbeat and cheerful Cat Witcher isn't what he expects to make things better.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95





	look what the cat dragged in

Lambert's first year on the Path is tough. He's still far more emotional than a Witcher should be; he gets into bar fights, yells back at the taunts, and nearly burns an entire village to the ground when he's denied payment. A good deal of his scars come from that first year; he was far from careful with his job and his body, and there had been many nights where he contemplated ripping open stitches or downing all of his potions and seeing if they would kill him.

His first winter back at Kaer Morhen settles him slightly. He finds comfort with Eskel; while literature isn't his thing as much as bombs or beer, there's something comforting about the way Eskel reads, how he always seems to know what Lambert needs when he needs it.

And on the days he couldn't provide that, Geralt was always willing to train with him.

His second year is a bit better. He finds himself thinking of his brothers when he fights, and if his steps become more calculated, his Signs more accurate and deadly, well. He'd just chalk it up to more experience and leave it at that.

He's between contracts on the road when his life stops being so quiet.

He'd heard some villagers mention there was another Witcher in the area. Lambert had promptly checked himself and steeled himself for a fight; the various Schools kept to vague areas based on where their keeps were located, and he knew that neither Eskel nor Geralt were anywhere near him. The closest School was the Cats, and that wasn't exactly a fight he was looking forward to.

He's setting up camp for the night when he sees a pair of eyes from among the branches of a tree. They narrow slightly, and it takes Lambert a moment to realize the Witcher is smiling.

His eyes are less of a molten gold and more of a sunshine yellow. They reflect Lambert's image back at him as he reaches for his swords, but a smooth tenor voice interrupts. "I don't bite."

Lambert lowers his hand slowly as the Witcher slips from the tree, landing near-silent on the soft dirt. His skin is darker than Lambert's, though not by much; his hair is shorter than Eskel's but longer than Lambert's and quite ruffled. Unlike most of the Wolf Witchers, the Cat has only one small scar on his face, a small nick below his left eye that really does nothing to take away from his looks. His shirt beneath his armor is a deep blue, his swords are gleaming in the fading sunlight, and his medallion sits proudly above it all. The corners of his eyes are crinkled slightly from his smile, and Lambert sees more emotions in his eyes than he can process.

"You don't have to bite to be a pain in the ass," he responds carefully, moving back to his horse as the Cat crosses his arms and leans against a tree. "You're a long way from Cat territory."

"Show me the written document that says each School has a specific hunting ground and I'll be on my way." 

Lambert grits his teeth at the amusement in the Cat's voice, but he's right. The only boundaries are those that have been told to them; everyone said to just stay in a certain area and everyone would be happy. "What do you want?"

He hears the flutter of paper and turns back. The Cat is holding out a contract. After a reluctant moment, he takes it; he's a bit low on coin, though he'd never admit it.

The contract is for an ogre, and it pays... stupidly well. The Cat raises a brow at him, and Lambert sighs. "You're not going to back down, are you?"

"You're a young Wolf who's been scammed one too many times. One contract, see how it feels."

He squinted at the Cat. "Why?"

"I've been following you for a few weeks out of curiosity." The Cat's eyes narrow slightly. "No offense, but I don't think the normal Witcher cycle is to kill monsters, get chased out of town, and drink away everything."

"It's my cycle, so you can fuck right off if you have an issue with that."

The Cat studies him, and then grins, sticking out a hand. "Aiden."

"...Lambert."

-

The contract goes well. Aiden... isn't half bad.

They pull in more food while hunting (his eyes sparkled like a little kid when Lambert displayed his fishing method) and while many towns were skeptical of two Witchers, they put up with it because the jobs were done sooner and more efficiently.

And Aiden kept up with his sass without missing a beat, which. Fuck yes, Lambert didn't realize how much he'd been needing that.

Days turned to weeks, and before he knew it winter was drifting in the air. A chill nipped at their heels as they finished their last contract before heading off for their respective keeps. At the point in the path where they had to begin going separate ways, Aiden pulls his horse to a stop and Lambert does the same.

"Well." The brunette pet his horse absently, not looking at Lambert. "I suppose now is the time we discuss if we keep this up."

Lambert tilted his head slightly, considering. (Aiden usually made fun of him for it, saying it made him look like a cat.)

(He promptly reminded the brunette that he had seen every glorious moment of Aiden getting distracted by songbirds during one of their conversations.)

"On the one hand, having someone is nice. Especially someone who understands. And can hold their own in a fight. And keep up with drinks. And-"

Lambert reached out, resting a hand on Aiden's shoulder. The Cat stops, biting the inside of his cheek, until the Wolf says simply, "We'll meet in the town just south of here come spring, when the pass clears. If either of us change our mind over winter, well. The other will catch on soon enough."

Aiden's shoulders relax a bit. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Spring." He finally looks at Lambert, shooting him a small smile. "See you then, kitten."

Lambert is too stunned to cuss the Cat out as Aiden spurs his horse down the path to his home for the winter.

Maybe it's a good thing.

-

The years continue like that. They join up in the spring, always in the same town, the same table, usually the same week (the day varied based on the snow). Aiden was usually there first, all ready with a warm meal, an ale, and his feral little grin. They'd finish around fall and stray back to their own keeps for the winter, and come spring the cycle would repeat.

It took three years for the Wolves to crack Lambert enough to admit that he was traveling with another Witcher. They shrugged it off for the most part, but he suspected it was because they didn't know said Witcher was a Cat.

It took seventeen years for their not-so-subtle flirting to yield anything.

Lambert was stitching up a wound on Aiden's shoulder; a lucky blow from a kikimora. It would scar, but not badly, and they could be back on contracts within two weeks.

"Damn thing could've taken my whole arm," Aiden commented, amused as he surveyed Lambert's work. "As long as it stayed away from my face."

Lambert glanced up at him as he tied off the stitches. The scar below Aiden's eye had been joined by the faintest nick on his right eyebrow. Miraculously, otherwise, the Cat's injuries had always been below the neck. Lambert himself hadn't been as lucky, earning himself a few scars along the right side of his face. Luckily, his vision hadn't been affected at all, despite the proximity of the injuries to his eye.

Aiden's gaze met his, pulling Lambert out of his stewing. The Cat shifted, rolling his shoulder a bit and testing his range of motion with a hum of satisfaction. "Thanks, kitten. Would've taken forever on my own."

Lambert is silent, just watching him, and Aiden turns back. "Everything alright-"

"What are we?" The words leave his mouth before the Wolf can stop them. "We're partners, friends, but- fuck, Aiden, I need to know right now what we are. What we will or could me."

The Cat studies him for so long that Lambert is ready to just wave it off and call it a night. But then a hand is reaching out, a warm palm cupping his cheek, and Lambert shouldn't be melting into it but he is. Aiden is suddenly very close; he can feel the brunette's breath puff across his face.

"What do you want us to be, Lambert?"

Lambert considers the question.

And pulls away.

He can smell confusion on Aiden, and a bit of hurt. He moves away, out of the Cat's reach, and stares into the fire for a long time. Aiden does not push him; he is silent and still for a few moments before he tugs his shirt back on and puts away their medical supplies. He sets about making dinner, too, and Lambert takes the offered bowl when he's done, picking at the stew.

What _does_ he want them to be? They're friends, and that works, but he's found his stomach rolling every time Aiden is nearly injured during a contract. His heart had stopped for a moment just today fighting the kikimora, watching the Cat go down and not come back up for several very long moments. So yes, he cares about the Cat - he cares deeply - but Aiden has made very little indication that anything to happen between them might be an exclusive thing. He's flirted with almost everyone they come across, come back to their room at the inn reeking of whores, and until now has never implied that anything would go further.

Lambert also has next to no experience in anything dedicated like this. There were quick nights at Kaer Morhen, mostly a way to ease the pain just a little for even a few minutes, but he felt little when those same Wolves did not return to the keep the next winter. Aiden had been his only true companion for a good deal of his time on the Path; he was special to him, dear in a way that even Eskel and Geralt were not. And Lambert did not want to throw that away just because he was a little too desperate and craving for-

He would not call it what it was, because that would make it too real. Affection, perhaps, is what he would stick with.

Witchers were not meant to feel. Not meant to love or be loved.

Lambert looked again at Aiden and felt those words crumble in the face of every little emotion he had ever seen on the Cat's face, in his stormy eyes, wafting in his scent. Witchers could feel, alright; it was easier if they couldn't. If they could detach themselves from emotions and serve their role in the world. Aiden was the opposite; he operated almost entirely on feeling and emotion. He smiled and laughed easily, he was a force to be reckoned with when he was furious, and he was deadly to anyone around him when those same emotions were turned against him, on the dark nights when they reflected on what had been or what might have been.

Aiden noticed his gaze and their eyes locked across the fire. And any words Lambert may have been trying to piece together to explain his reaction, to justify why he was... Bluntly, why he was _scared_ to put his trust, his- _affection_ into another person's hands, to bear his heart and trust the other not to crush it; all of those words fell away.

Aiden was the one to come to him, slow and tentative. Waiting for Lambert to tell him no. But the Wolf remained silent, and eventually the Cat sat before him, their knees brushing, and Aiden waited. His eyes posed the same question:

_What do you want us to be, Lambert?_

He reached out slowly, taking Aiden's hands in his own. He broke out of Aiden's gaze, turning his attention down to the rough, scarred hands in his own. He traced the lines of Aiden's hands, feeling the drag of the Cat's palms against his own. Hands like these had been built to fight, to hunt and kill, but there was a softness to them, as well. A softness that would take his heart reverently and protect it from everything the world had to throw at it.

He looked up again, finding Aiden's face close to his again. The Cat was holding his breath, eyes flickering nervously between their joined hands and Lambert's face, studying, hoping, _praying_.

Lambert closed the gap between them and let go.

-

The night is cold. They're much older now, but their habits had remained the same. By Lambert's estimation, it would be their last night together for the winter. They spent it away from any towns, in a familiar part of the woods. They could have been nearing their own keeps by this point, but they had lingered, now curled around each other as the fire burned low.

Aiden had grown his hair a bit longer over the years. It curled, much to Lambert's delight, and the brunette tended to wear it just long enough to partially cover his ears and a new scar along his forehead. Tucked under Lambert's chin, the curls tickled the more delicate skin of his neck with every breath the Cat took. Neither of them spoke, but they didn't have to; they had spent decades in this cycle, and they didn't need to reaffirm what tomorrow would bring.

And yet he can feel how tense Aiden is, the uncertainty in his scent. Lambert doesn't push him; he suspects it might just be about their upcoming separation for the winter, but then Aiden finally speaks.

"I've been kicked out of the keep."

Lambert sits up so quickly that Aiden makes a noise of surprise as he slides off of the Wolf. "What?"

The Cat refuses to meet his gaze, tracing a thumb along the edges of his medallion. "Some of the Cats have a strong dislike for the School of the Wolf. Once they found out I've been with one, not only as a partner for contracts but... As something more, they threw me out."

"I- Aiden, when did this happen?"

The brunette doesn't answer, and Lambert grips his wrist. "Aiden."

"Three years ago."

Lambert's blood runs cold. Three winters, Aiden had been on his own. Three winters, he had said nothing despite how half-starved he must have ended up before they reunited in the spring. Shame sours Aiden's scent, and Lambert forces the Cat to look at him.

"Come with me to Kaer Morhen."

Aiden opens his mouth to protest, but Lambert shakes his head. "You wouldn't have told me if you weren't afraid you might not last the winter. You would not have told me you had nowhere to go if you didn't need a place. Come with me."

The Cat studies him for a few moments, but his eyes are exhausted. He says nothing, merely nods weakly, and Lambert pulls him into a tight embrace.

-

When a lone Cat medallion is all that greets him one night after they'd split off to take different contracts, Lambert's world stumbles to a halt.

It's Aiden's, he knows that for sure. They had agreed on the location long before separating, and no other Cat would have strayed this far into Wolf territory.

But it's a message. And Lambert barely manages to get far enough from the village before unleashing wave after wave of Igni to prevent the town from turning to ash. When he returns the next day, the only thing the innkeeper can tell him is that it was a Cat. No name, no description past the identical medallion displayed beneath his cloak.

It takes him two months to get any more of a lead. The Witcher is named Jad Karadin, though he's hardly much of a Witcher anymore.

Geralt comes with him. The Cat attempts to defend himself, saying Aiden had taken the payment and ran.

Geralt helps him kill Karadin.

It doesn't feel like enough.

Half a year passes and Lambert has not in the slightest pulled himself from his sorrow. He's vaguely reminded of his first years on the Path; he takes contracts, finishes them brutally; he gets into bar fights, and he drinks away any thought that dares come to him involving Aiden.

He keeps Aiden's medallion. Wears it more often than his own. He debates not returning to Kaer Morhen when winter nears, but Eskel seeks him out like a damn bloodhound.

The first night they spend on the road together, Lambert ends up sobbing into the noirette's chest until the sun rises. Eskel does not comment on it the next morning; he simply holds his brother, a pillar of support in the face of the storm that is Lambert's emotions.

The first snow is early, and they pick up the pace. Lambert's heart aches when they come to the crossroads where he and Aiden had split for decades; the crossroads where Aiden had admitted he no longer had a home and Lambert had given him one.

They find tracks in the fresh snow as they climb towards the keep; Geralt was likely only a few hours ahead of them. It's little surprise when the White Wolf meets them at the gates, but his expression is grim.

Lambert slides off his horse silently, dread in his stomach. "What's going on?"

Geralt merely shakes his head, turning to head into the keep. Eskel takes both of the horses to the stable, and Lambert is left with little choice but to follow his brother.

As his nose warms, adjusting to the lack of a biting breeze, he realizes it's not just the four of them here. There's someone else; he can smell blood that is not from his brother or from Vesemir. His brow creases in confusion, especially as Geralt stops before the door to his room.

Lambert looks at him, heart heavy as the first hints of hope try to latch in his mind. Geralt nods at the door, and after a moment to gather himself, Lambert opens it.

The fire is burning high, fresh wood already stacked nearby. Vesemir is standing over the table in the corner, cleaning off his hands. He turns as Lambert enters, face shadowed with exhaustion, and Lambert turns to the figure in the bed.

His hair is longer, brushing past his shoulders, and a patchy stubble covers most of his lower face. Bandages cover his right eye, and he can see stitches along the brunette's arms, bruises and new scars, a jagged one above his heart-

But it's Aiden. Alive.

Lambert hears himself hit the ground more than he feels it. Vesemir speaks up quietly. "I found him in the valley. He was half dead and weaponless."

"How-... What-" Lambert shook his head, stumbling to his feet and moving to the bed.

"His eye is likely beyond repair; it was an older wound, infected badly. The one above his heart, as well. I don't know how he survived, but he came here. Against all odds."

Lambert feels his chest tighten. Despite always being wary about returning to Kaer Morhen, Aiden had thought of it first in his need for safety. He had found his way here, probably encountered monsters that could have killed him, but he had _survived_.

As he stands there, speechless, Aiden's uncovered eye cracks open slowly. He squints, taking in the room, before it focuses and falls on Lambert.

He smiles tiredly, reaching out with a shaky hand. "Hey, kitten."

Lambert sobs.


End file.
